


Beatrice Didn't Sink

by nevereverever



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Anxiety, Cooking, Depression, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nerdy Flirting, New Beginnings, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sibling Love, Sickness, parenting, this fic ships isadora quagmire and her own happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevereverever/pseuds/nevereverever
Summary: The Baudelaire Siblings had enough bad luck to last a lifetime, so maybe it was time some things started to turn for the better.orIn which I write my kids a happy ending





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! I made this because I needed it to exist, so now it does. I love these kids so goshdarn much. Part two should be coming soon :)

Their journey home was calamitous, a word which here means terrifying and filled with brushes with death and near escapes. With little room to move and spare food, they weakened as they went on, but never lost sight of their dream, what they wanted more than anything. A home, with no villains and no volunteers.

They read their parent’s book many times over, finding comfort in the curls of their mother’s handwriting and in the drawings their father had etched into the margins. They took care of Bea, no matter how small their rations were, they always made sure she got enough. They made sure not to break that final promise.

They were shaken by dreams and storms alike, and with little to guide their path, they drifted, always searching for a home. 

When they finally washed ashore, there was a familiar grit to the air and a familiar gray to the sky.

“It’s Briny Beach,” Klaus said with a sigh that almost sounded like a laugh, “I can’t believe after all this time, we still end up here.” He gripped the side of the boat so tightly his knuckles went white.

“Our life has changed so many times on this beach,” Violet said as the bottom of Beatrice the Boat ground into the sand. A breeze blew across the shore, and the fog went with it, curling through the cool fall air. Despite their relief to have found their way back to the mainland, neither Violet nor Klaus stood. Sunny, for her part, walked to the bow of the rowboat and smiled.

“We’re ready,” she pronounced, clambering out into the water, about waist high on her. Her siblings smiled too, even though they had their doubts. On shaking legs, Violet grabbed Bea, took Klaus’ hand, and put her feet, finally, on dry land. Klaus, his parent’s book under his arm, was the last out and pushed Beatrice the Boat back out to sea, content never to see her again. Just as their voyage had been calamitous, their next journey was sure to be captivating, a word which here means very hopefully unlike anything they had done before.

“I don’t know what to do next,” he said, squeezing Violet’s hand and taking hold of Sunny’s.

“We catch the rickety trolley,” Violet responded, pointing at the tracks where the trolley was careening towards them. She hailed it, and it ground to a stop in front of them. The trolley operator, the very man who had seen them off on the worst day of their lives, poked his head out, and Violet very nearly cried.

“Hello, children! Where are you all headed on this very dreary morning?” His voice was bright, and his sing-song tone was music to the Baudelaire’s ears, as they had not heard anyone but themselves in a year.

“We’re headed into the city,” Violet responded as the four of them boarded the trolley that would take them to the rest of their lives. 

“I think I recognize your faces,” he said as the trolley started up again, “by chance are you those Baudelaire children? The famous murderous, arsonist orphans who possess great wealth?” Violet and Klaus exchanged a glance. They had somehow forgotten that they were wanted for murders they didn’t commit.

“No, not at all. We’re the Lauriebades,” Klaus said, without so much as a moment’s hesitation. After all, she who hesitates is lost. Sunny laughed, which made Bea giggle.

“We are just regular orphans,” she said, with her charming little smile. The trolley man cooed, seemingly content with their answer, and turned back to the tracks. Violet kissed the top of Bea’s head and ruffled Sunny’s hair. Perhaps Lauriebade would do.

 

As soon as they got into the city, Klaus snatched up a copy of the nearest newspaper, luckily not the Daily Punctilio. They knew they couldn’t claim their parent’s fortune, at least not immediately, lest they be arrested for murder, so they would need jobs and a place to live, fast. They weren’t in particularly good shape either. They were frail and in sun-bleached, salt-encrusted clothes, so they found a park bench that fit them all and looked for odd-jobs.

They spent weeks huddled around a fire in an abandoned barbershop, slowly saving money for something better. Klaus and Sunny did any work they could find (“She’s very talented for her age” was Klaus’ refrain), and Violet found a job at a mechanics, which she would do with Bea strapped to her back in a sling she fashioned with the capes from the barbershop. Bea was a smart little one, and took quickly to charming customers and handing Violet tools. 

It was a Friday when they finally realized they had enough money to rent a tiny apartment in a not so fashionable part of town. Violet came home to find Klaus and Sunny asleep on the floor, their little sister (not so little anymore) curled up on her big brother’s chest. In his hand, there was a newspaper clipping. 

Studio Apartment 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom  
1 stove, 1 oven, 1 window, 1 lock

Violet quirked her head at the odd wording, but smiled at the thought, a place to call their own. She added a log to the fire and set to the work of feeding Bea, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the evening. 

Once Bea was finally asleep in the cradle she had crafted, she curled up around Klaus, her arm draped over Sunny, comforted by their warmth and the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to sleep in the barbershop much longer. Soon, they’d have 1 bedroom, 1 lock, 1 family.

 

Sunny spoke for all of them when they walked into their apartment for the first time.

“It’s perfect,” she said, almost reverently. The floors were a light wood, and the sunlight from the window made it glow gold. Sunny walked over to the oven, an old cast iron thing that looked like it had seen a lot. Just like them. She ran her fingers over the dark metal in awe. As good as she had become at cooking over an open fire, she simply couldn’t contain her joy at the thought of an oven of her own. 

“It’s ours,” Violet said, her voice filled with unshed tears. She put Bea down to let her roam, and put an arm around Klaus’ waist. She saw tears in her brother’s eyes too and for a moment she was overwhelmed. After all they had been through, it seemed too good to be true. And perhaps it was, but she indulged herself. Maybe they were truly safe this time.

“With a lock to keep the world out,” Klaus said, his voice breaking over the words like a wave over a craggy lakeside shore that he hoped never to encounter again.

“Vi, how much money is left?” Sunny asked, breaking away from her reverie for a moment.

“We’ve got 20 dollars, but we can’t spare all of it,” Violet responded, her tone questioning, “what do you need it for?” Sunny thought for a moment.

“Family dinner,” Sunny said, “I can do it with 5. Omelets with ramps and queso fresco.” She sounded so sure of herself and her siblings couldn’t help but feel anything other than pride. 

That night, they ate heartily, relishing the warm air and their full stomachs, making jokes and smiling and holding onto each other. Their little apartment was nearly empty, with only salvaged material, a change of clothes for each of them, and a well-worn book, but it was so filled with love, and with an aura of safety that it was impossible not to smile.

They fell asleep together under their one blanket, and that was enough. Their family was enough.

 

When Klaus found a job at the noblest of institutions, the public library, their apartment decorating and furnishing started to pick up. Sparsely decorated apartments can be depressing, especially when one comes home from a 10-hour shift only to be greeted by another night of sleeping on the floor.

Their first purchase was a mattress which, while used, made the 3 of them who weren’t in cribs much comfier in their new home. Next was dishware, one piece at a time, then a table and some rickety chairs. Violet found some paper and pencils at work and took to drawing the people and places she wanted to remember. 

Their parents, Kit and Jacques (together again in their memories), Uncle Monty, Olivia, Hector, The Mortmain mountains at sunset, the island, and their tree. Soon the walls were covered with happy things, beautiful things to remember on nights when they couldn’t sleep for fear of some villainy bursting through their door.

Sunny slowly acquired spices, and slowly taught her baby sister to be her sous chef (“don’t forget to taste as you work, you little thing!”), but she never kept the horseradish out of reach. She went with Klaus to the library most days, sometimes bringing Bea with her (“don’t wander far, you little thing!”) 

One night, when both the little ones had drifted off, Violet put her head on Klaus’s shoulder and sighed.

“She’s our greatest accomplishment.”

 

Klaus’ supervisor was a woman named Ethel whose philosophical and literary principles were shockingly similar to his own. So, it should have been no surprise when Klaus walked into the library one cold November morning with a hacking cough, a noticeably flushed face, and a very adorable baby strapped to his back that she punched him in and then sent him home.

He couldn’t thank her enough as he left, couldn’t stop thanking her as he walked home, couldn’t stop coughing as he climbed the three flights of stairs to their apartment.

“Kla okay?” Bea asked, her head resting on his back.

“I’m okay, Beatrice, I’m okay,” he replied as he fumbled for the keys. He got the door open, and barely managed to set Bea down before collapsing into bed. It was still early, and Violet had a day off, so when she stepped out of the shower he heard her sigh and could picture the little frown on her face.

“Did you get sent home?” He nodded into the pillows, unwilling to use his aching muscles any longer. Violet hummed her understanding.

“Sunny, have we got-”

“I’m going to make him some soup,” Sunny interrupted, already in the process of examining their fridge for possible soup ingredients. Violet sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her hands over Klaus’ back in soothing circles. He was just starting to drift off when a knock came at their door. He tensed slightly. Violet hushed him before she went to get it.

“Baudelaires!” Several voices exclaimed in a chorus that sounded so familiar that Klaus couldn’t help but look. When he lifted his head, he saw 3 people with strikingly similar faces to their friends of old, but he didn’t have time to process it before Violet and Sunny yelled back.

“Quagmires!” 

 

Violet flung herself at the people at the door and gathered them into a hug. Klaus pushed himself to his feet and tried to ignore the world spinning around him. Could it really be them, even after all of this time?

“I think I’m having a fever dream,” he said. When Violet let the triplets go, he brought a hand up to touch Duncan’s cheek and found it to be flesh and blood. Overwhelmed, he felt his balance start to wobble, then his vision started to go dark. The last thing he felt was strong arms around him, holding him up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Thank you so much for all of your lovely encouragement! You are all wonderful. Please enjoy this fluff fest <3 Part 3 is coming within the next week.

Next thing Klaus knew, he was in bed with his head pillowed on someone’s leg rather than the mattress. His brain felt like it was swimming, but outside of his fog, he could hear the voices of those he loved.

“How did you find us?” It was Violet, whispering.

“We were in the library in the city and saw that one of the librarians was called Klaus Lauribade. By now, we recognize an anagram when we see one. This woman named Ethel said he was a Verifiably Fantastic Desk-Jockey, and gave us this address.” A male voice, maybe Quigley, said. There was a round of soft laughter, and the bad days of the past couldn’t have felt farther away. 

Words drifted in and out of Klaus’ head, like clouds on a windy day. Every so often one would catch and he would try to speak, but when he did, the sounds came out jumbled and the words caught in his throat, sending him into another volley of coughs. Then someone would shush him, and there would be hands in his hair and blankets tucked tighter around him. 

Once, he jerked awake, coughing violently. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about, only that it made him tired and angry and scared.

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, we’ve got you,” someone said, guiding him back down to the bed. His breath was coming too hard and fast and the coughs left him gasping.

“Safe?” He managed to rasp out a word between coughs.

“So safe, right here with us,” the voice came again. Whoever it was coming from moved him, so gently, until it felt like he was being held. Safe, they had said. He was safe, felt safe as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

 

After a while, someone shook his shoulder lightly. The late afternoon sun streaming through their window dappled the ground in waves of light.

“Klaus, you need to eat.” He turned his eyes towards the sound to see Isadora's smiling face above him. Her hair was cut short, and it swept across her forehead and into her eyes. She still had the same kind eyes that he had first seen in the classrooms of Prufrock Prep, and her smile was just as sweet as ever. She ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “We’ve missed you, Klaus Baudelaire.”

He pulled himself up to a sitting position to find the most beautiful scene he had ever witnessed. He had been resting in Duncan’s lap. Isadora was in front of him, and Violet and Quigley were asleep on the other side of the bed. They looked like they had fallen asleep while deep in conversation, their heads bowed together and hands intertwined. Sunny was spoonfeeding Bea soup that smelled delicious. In that moment, he couldn’t imagine being happier, except, perhaps, if he wasn’t so terribly ill.

“What time is it?” His voice was rough from sleep and from coughing and his limbs felt like lead as he reached around for his glasses. Duncan placed them onto the bridge of his nose, and the world became a little clearer.

“It’s half past 4. You really needed that rest.” Isadora smiled, and Klaus was dazzled again, though he couldn’t tell if it was the brightness of her grin or his surprise at their reappearance.

“Why did you leave Hector?” The first real question out of his mouth since they had arrived. What he really meant was safety, why did you leave your safe home. He realized but a second later that it might have been the wrong one to ask. “Sorry,” he quickly backtracked.

“No, it’s okay. One day we got a letter, delivered by a crow. It said “safe to come down now. the world is quiet once more.” It was signed L.S. Violet told us that was probably Lemony Snicket. But we decided to take the chance, if only in hope of finding you Baudelaires. Hector stayed, but he’ll be fine.” Isadora stood and walked to the kitchen, her voice teetering on the edge of sadness. She ruffled Sunny’s hair and booped Bea’s adorable button of a nose.

“Soup?” Bea asked, pointing at the pot sitting on the stove. Klaus laughed, then coughed, then went to grab food. 

“Yes, it is soup, you little thing,” Sunny said, grinning and putting another spoonful to her baby sister’s lips.

“Now that Klaus is awake, can we get Quigley and Violet up so we can talk about the plan?” Duncan said, bouncing in place, full of excitement. Klaus quirked his head to the side. What planning was there left to do now that they were all finally together?

“Soup,” Bea said more insistently, pointing at Klaus’ empty bowl this time. So young to already be a mother hen.

“I guess so!” Isadora responded turning towards Duncan, before spinning around to Klaus.

“Soup!” Isadora and Bea said in tandem. They both stared at him, big and small eyes alike threatening him to force feed him the darn soup if he did not do it himself. A little scared, Klaus quickly served himself and brought the spoon to his lips. The hot liquid was delicious and soothed his throat, so he turned to Sunny with a raised eyebrow.

“Lemongrass,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. Duncan had woken up Violet and Quigley, so when Klaus sat down and Sunny brought Bea, there were 7 extremely happy orphans on one bed, what many would call a conundrum of the highest proportions.

“So,” Duncan began, looking around the circle, his eyes shining with a conspiratorial glint they hadn’t lost since the days of Prufrock Prep, “we three are not wanted for murder, and are of age, so we can claim our parent's fortune-” 

Isadora cut in, “We’ve decided to repatriate the Quagmire Sapphires to their native Sri Lanka, where they were stolen 200 years ago- there was a book about it on the-”

“But,” Quigley continued, directing them back on track, “we still have a nice little nest egg.” There was quiet for a moment, each of the Baudelaires trying to put the puzzle together. 

“Enough to get an apartment big enough for say, 7 people?” Isadora finished. Violet's heart was in her throat, a phrase which here means she was so overwhelmed with the love she felt for the people around her that she was unable to speak. She put her head on Quigley’s shoulder and nodded. He put a reassuring hand on her back.

“Maybe even big enough for a library,” Duncan said, staring into Klaus’ eyes as if he could see through them. Perhaps he could. “And a kitchen for you, Sunny.”

“This oven leaves a lot to be desired,” Sunny said, smile as bright as her stellar namesake. Bea clapped her little hands together with vigor, which is about as positive of a response as they could have expected. 

Isadora and Sunny got to chatting, then both Quagmire boys and Violet. Klaus was on the edge of tears, so awed by his friends and their generosity and his love for his family. Bea reached out for him and he pulled her close. 

“Kla okay,” she said, more of a statement this time. She touched a finger to his cheek where he realized a tear had escaped from his eye.

“Yeah Bea, I’m great.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Thank you all again for the lovely comments. I think I happy cry about them at least once a day. I hope you enjoy this next installment, more to come soon!

Violet was a genius, always had been, and always would be. Staring at her newest invention, Sunny felt that she hadn’t expressed that to her sister enough.

“It’s gorgeous, you mad scientist, you!” It was a motorized step stool so Sunny could use their brand new, adult-sized kitchen with ease. When she stood on top of it, she could reach the highest shelves without reaching. No hiding peanut butter from her anymore.

“Thanks, Sun,” Violet said with a little laugh. Sunny walked down the steps and pulled her big sister into a hug. Now that they were in the new place, Sunny had finally been able to start really homeschooling, really improving her skills, and most importantly, taking care of her siblings.

“I’ll make dinner tonight!” Sunny said, already brainstorming. Bea, as if on cue, ran to her big little sister, knowing that cooking time was always their time together.

“You make dinner every night,” Isadora called from the couch, only a few feet away.  
“Tacos!” Bea threw her hands into the air and only almost fell over. Sunny laughed. 

“She picked for me! Okay, tacos it is, you little thing.” Violet turned back to sit with Isadora, to read or to talk. They left Sunny and Bea to their nightly routine. They had a theory that the rhythm of it, the creation of something, the sharing with loved ones, all of it made Sunny’s life feel more normal. God knows they all needed normal.

“What do we need first, little one?” Violet could hear Sunny chatting with her little sister, and she rested her head on Isadora’s shoulder.

“Beans!”

“And?” Sunny held out her hand for a high five, and Bea gladly gave it to her.

“Cayenne!”

 

It was no secret that Isadora Quagmire loved beautiful things. For years of her life, she had been deprived of them, so she quickly set to work making their home the most beautiful place she could imagine. 

Weekends were her favorite time. She would wake up early, usually before sunrise, and write, or cook, or clean. Usually clean.

It makes for a more poetic space  
when everything is in it its place

Then, as soon as the birds started calling and the city was awake, she would go looking for beautiful things.

She liked to take Bea with her, sometimes someone else if she could get them awake so early on their day of rest. Her beautiful things were different every week. Sometimes it was the color of the sky on a cloudless day in the park, sometimes it was a biography of Mary Wollstonecraft on the dollar rack at a bookstore, sometimes it was a passerby's smile or a really pretty tree.

It always felt beautiful to not be worried about what horrors might be waiting for her at home.

One morning, her beautiful thing was physical, something she could share outside of a few spare poems. She was alone, walking through a quiet thrift store. It was winter, the air snapping at her heels like an angry dog, so the warm air of the store was well received.

There was this thing, a globe type thing, made of thinly woven wire and crystals. It shimmered even in the dimly lit store, and Isadora couldn’t help but be entranced by it. With a little inspection, she realized it was a light fixture. She pictured it hanging in their cozy living room- library amalgam, shining beautiful warmth onto her family.

in the creation of a beautiful home  
we weave together like a honeycomb

 

“Quigley, will you come help me with this?” Violet called. She was going a little out of her comfort zone and working on a woodworking project with some super complicated joinery. It would make a really nice bookend when it was done, but she needed more hands than two to finish it.

“What do you need, Violet?” Quigley poked his head around the corner into her little inventing nook. It was getting later into the evening, so he was the only person still up.

“Will you hold this here?” She motioned with her head towards the joint she wanted him to hold. He quickly complied, putting his hand over hers before she slipped away to grab a clamp. 

“Why are you up so late?” He asked over his shoulder. She returned and clamped down the tricky joint. 

“After work, I still had energy left over. What better to do with that energy than create? Thanks for the help.” She busied herself with the wood, fingers brushing lightly over the grain, sweeping away the fine sawdust that had gathered there.

“Did you have a dream last night?” She turned on her heel and examined his face. She found his eyes and for one intense moment, she was caught in the gravity of his gaze.

“How did you know?” She mentally went through a list of what might have alerted him. Pulled away from her focused inventing headspace, she pulled her hair down from its ribbon, and let it fall to her shoulders.

“I find that I often have trouble getting to sleep after…” he trailed off, unwilling or unable to continue, “I could make us some tea. Perhaps we can find sleep together.” Violet's posture visibly sagged as the tension of holding herself together bled away.

“I think the joinery can wait the night. You sit down. I'll boil the kettle.” She smiled, acutely aware of what he was doing, and what it meant to her.

 

Klaus was reading, always reading, when a loud noise startled him out of his chair near the window, where the dim tones of a setting sun were illuminating his pages. His brain went quickly from relaxation to preservation, a word which here means trying not to die. 

Duncan tumbled through the door and Klaus exhaled, if only for a moment. The look on his friend’s face was much more frightening. 

“Duncan, what happened?” Klaus ran forward, his first inclination was that Duncan was injured. He looked a mess, his hair and clothes rumpled, his face pale and hands shaking. Was Olaf back? Esme?

“The elevator- the elevator got stuck- and I- I was alone- I was stuck and I was alone-” Duncan, always so inquisitive, so strong, dissolved into tears in front of Klaus’ eyes and his heart broke in two. He gathered his friend into his chest and hushed him softly, spilling sweetness into every syllable.

“You’re okay. You aren’t alone, you’re safe. I promise.” Slowly but surely, Duncan's breathing evened out, and Klaus could breathe right too. Duncan pulled away from him after a moment, eyes filled with what could only be called guilt.

“Klaus, I’m so sorry. Isadora and I, we both have-”

“Claustrophobia. From the red herring.” It was just a guess, but when Duncan winced at the sound of the word he reasoned he was correct. He guided his friend to their couch, more full with love than stuffing, and only made a small surprised noise when he found himself with an armful of Duncan Quagmire, his friend's head resting against his chest. 

“Okay,” he said with a little smile, “I’ve got you. As long as you need me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...soon is a relative term. I'm so sorry. I've had a very busy semester, and so my spring break resolution is to pull this to a conclusion. I love these kids and I love you all and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> PS thank you to the commenter who said Klaus that's gay to my first chapter for being the inspiration for this one

It had been a good week for him. Duncan had an article published in the little magazine he worked at, it had been calm. He loved his new job because no one knew him by the fame of his past, only the talent of his present. And he got to spend all day in words, words, words.  
For some reason though, he couldn’t fully calm down, just too keyed up. It had been a calm week for him. 

He stumbled towards home after work with a small bag of groceries, just things that they had run out of. Isadora would have gotten them the next morning but she was having a bad week and he didn’t want her to worry. It seemed like a mistake as he got more anxious with every footfall. He couldn’t stop checking over his shoulder until eventually, he broke into a bit of a jog, desperate to get a locked door between him and the world. 

No one but Isadora and Sunny were home when he arrived. Violet had made them a clip chart so they always knew where everyone was, to ease all of their fears of friends and family not coming back. Still winded, he moved his clip from work to home. He took a minute to gather himself, but he was still shaking, still on edge.

He went to Isadora’s room because he wanted to be with someone. Her room was dim, the shades closed and light off. Duncan switched on a lamp, but she didn’t move from her place as a lump on the bed.

“Iz? How are you?” He put a hand on her shoulder and waited for a response. Slowly, she moved her hand to cover his.

“It’s better today, brighter,” she whispered, stock still. Duncan closed his eyes. Talking was a great sign.

“Mmm. Will you eat dinner with us tonight?” A bit out there, but he could dream.

“I can try,” her voice was strained, “just give me some time alone, okay?” If he listened very closely, he could hear a whisper of joy, and that was enough. The bell on the door rang, letting him know he had someone else he could pester. Because, as much as Isadora wanted to help, she needed to rest and he really needed someone to hold him.

He didn’t feel better after talking to his sister. He hated that she was suffering in a way he could barely imagine, let alone fix. He felt like he was full of emotions ready to spill over and the world was rocking under his feet. His head hurt and his chest hurt and he was so tired. He needed someone. He needed-

Luckily, it was Klaus at the door.

For some reason, after that night stuck in the elevator, Klaus became Duncan’s go-to source of comfort, on good nights and on bad. Not that Klaus minded, in fact, he loved coming home and sitting down, his friend a warm presence at his side. He didn’t understand it, more than anything. Why him?

They didn’t have to speak about it anymore, they made a moment of eye contact and it was enough. Klaus sat down and Duncan curled up into his side, head resting on his friend’s chest. His heartbeat was the steady rhythm to a song Duncan had been singing alone his whole life. It was steady, a warm glow in the often raucous night that was their lives. 

He wove his arms around Duncan and cradled him like he was something precious because he was and always would be. His breathing evened out agonizingly slowly. He hadn’t even realized that he was on the verge of hyperventilation until he could finally exhale. 

Klaus had realized though, had been rubbing his back and breathing carefully as an example. Klaus knew exactly what to do and what to say, had spent hours learning him cues like he would spend time buried in a book. Like Duncan was an exciting novel he couldn't put down.

“You are safe here, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You're doing really well, breathing. You're so strong, you know that?” The feelings Duncan had so long pushed to the side ached at the sight of the little smile on his lips, the gleam his eyes with the question. Duncan nodded, just a little, and Klaus beamed. This incredible man had survived so much, and yet, he was still soft and gentle. So giving and full of light. Duncan couldn't fathom how this perfect boy was still there, holding him as they breathed in tandem

“I’m looking for a word,” Duncan said, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, “an adjective.” He was going to take this leap of faith, anything for this perfect moment to never end.

“Mmm. To describe what?” Klaus relaxed a little bit now that Duncan seemed calmer. He traced his fingers down the length of Duncan's spine, admiring the way it made his friend relax even further. 

“Something too beautiful for words.” A trick question. Klaus smiled in full.

“In The Symposium, Socrates says that the purest form in the world is love.” Klaus let go of Duncan to adjust his glasses but was back within a moment. He looked down at his friend, his gaze asking if it was a satisfactory answer. 

“Thank you,” a moment's pause, “my love.” Duncan didn’t move, couldn’t, just watched and waited. Watched as close as he possibly could, for any twitch, any signal that he could think of that he had taken the right gamble.

Still, he was surprised when Klaus moved forward and connected their lips in a form purer than any they had yet to know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and Quigley get their shit together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks. The Penultimate Chapter is here! There's gonna be a time skip after this, so enjoy with crazy fluffy before our wrap up...

“It’s never scary, just set in a scary time and place. The Hinterlands, usually. I wake up thinking that’s where I am. Just for a moment. And thinking that, feeling that, makes me never want to fall asleep again,” Quigley confessed, a cup of hot chamomile tea cradled in his palms. He took a sip and it burnt on the way down, but the pain was grounding. He still felt far away

“I understand,” Violet paused, wondering how to continue, “What is that feeling? The one you’re trying to avoid.” A shiver ran down her spine, and she tugged at the blanket draped around her shoulders. 

“Just incredible loneliness. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to really tell people what that was like, the feeling of not seeing anyone, let alone the people I love, for months. Sometimes I would - I would tell myself they were dead just so their absence wouldn’t hurt as much.” His breathing got ragged as he spoke around the lump in his throat. He let out a sad little laugh.

“I’m sorry.” Violet couldn’t tell in that moment what she was apologizing for, that it had happened or that she had dredged it up. She let her hand rest on his thigh. It drew all of his focus, which was nice.

“No, no. I’m okay. Just being with you - anyone- is better. It would have come up anyway.” Even after his words of platitude, Violet was still feeling guilty. 

“How about this. If you ever wake up from a dream, come get me, and I’ll make you a cup of tea. We can sit and talk for as long as you need.” Quigley smiled, in the sweet, takes up his whole face kind of way that she had only gotten to learn once their trials were over. He held out his mug.

“Sounds like a deal. But only if you wake me too. This goes both ways.” Violet broke open, the tears of moments before forgotten for the joy of the present. The clink of their mugs sounded victorious.

 

In the Baudelaire-Quagmire Household, there were more than a few signs that something was wrong. Klaus's shaking hands, Isadora showering more than once a day, all of Sunny's food coming out bitter. There were many signs that came before the storm, where the crisis could be avoided.

Violet violently scrubbing the floor was not one of them. It was a crisis already in motion.

Quigley was at her side in an instant. He cradled her hands, scraped and raw from cleaning, in his, only for a moment before she pulled away to continue scrubbing. From close up, he saw that her tears were dripping onto the floor as she worked.

“Violet? Why are you cleaning? It’s late, you should be in bed,” he said, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away, and he withdrew his hand like it had been burned.

“I have to finish the work before he comes or-” her breaths came faster, shallower, “or-” she went silent, and he was almost glad he didn’t have to hear what was on the other side of that or.

“He’s not here, Violet. He’s not here. You're safe at home, and the rest of us are safe too. You can stop. Right now, I need you to focus on my voice, okay?” Her movements slowed down, but she kept going, wary.

“Violet, I need you to come back to me. You’re here, safe in our apartment. He isn’t coming, no one is. Come back down, sweetheart, please.” The petname slipped out of his mouth and she perked up at it. She stilled for a moment. Her brows furrowed like she was fighting, and he knew she was. She told him that it was like she was drifting away, that she was caught in the memory and needed someone to tell her that she was going to be okay, that it wasn't real.

"Please, darling. You're hurting yourself." Her hands looked painful, but she didn't seem to notice, "I promise you're okay. It's safe to come down, Violet. He's not here, I promise." He kept up his soothing monologue, trying to bring her back to the world where he could hold her free of fear.

“Quigley?” she asked after some time. The desperation in her tone broke his heart. “I’m cold.” Out of his worry, he looked down and realize she was soaked in the water she was scrubbing the floor with. 

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, and then we can make some tea,” Quigley held out a hand and Violet somewhat reluctantly took it.

“He’s not coming? I won’t-” She looked up at him with big scared eyes, red and puffy from crying. They stood, and he walked her to her room. He was as gentle as he could be, stripped away her wet clothes and dried her off, tenderly, like he could give her the warmth stored in his heart. He gave her a sweater of his, too big on her, but he knew it was warm.

“You’re safe, I promise. You’re safe.” He left her for a moment to make the tea, and when he returned with two warm mugs, there was life in her eyes again. She looked tired but the way she blinked her eyes, slowly like she was trying to evade sleep, was peaceful instead of frantic.

“I’m sorry if that was scary, I-”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Quigley blurted, unable to contain his sheer mountain of affection. He didn’t know what he looked like, but he felt mortified. Violet smiled, really smiled, even if it was small and scared. Her hand was still trembling when she pressed it to his cheek and drew him into a kiss. Her lips tasted like salt and he couldn’t help but kiss it away.

When they pulled apart, Violet put her head in his lap and he wove his hands into her hair.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

 

The developed a code soon enough because you can take the volunteer out of the fire but you can’t take the fire out of the volunteer. Chamomile was a nightmare. Citrus was a flashback. Chai was stress, green was worry so on and so forth. It became an easy shorthand between them, something whispered and sacred

After that, all of their kisses tasted like milk and honey, so everything else was secondary. They woke up in each other's arms more nights than not. It was exhilarating, a word which here means completely new in all the best ways


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing Lemony home

Lemony Snicket was not in the habit of being in public for long hours. He preferred tunnels, crumbling motel rooms, and of course a wooden barrel marked “meat sauce” in the back of a van. But the young woman sitting in front of him with the eyes of his sister and the name of his love? She might have changed that. He was willing to sit with her in that diner forever.

She told more stories than he had ever hoped to know about the Baudelaires. He had, eventually, come to the conclusion their boat sank, but Beatrice, or Bea as she told him she preferred, spoke about them in the present tense.

The sun had set. The lights of the city drowned out the stars, casting the sky in an eerie red. They had both finished their root beers and they were sitting in silence, reveling in the feeling of being there. Beatrice smiled a little sneaky smile, and by god in that moment if she didn't look just like Kit.

“Do you want to come home with me?” He nodded. She had a home. 

And so they went through the city. On the rickety trolley, through the big glass doors of their building, up the creaking elevator, and to a wooden door. Painted on it in a beautiful script was the phrase “our beautiful place”. Lemony could not put words to the feeling of staring at that inscription, despite being a man of many words. Bea swung open the door without hesitation.

“I brought a guest,” she announced, hanging her hat on a coatrack. Almost simultaneously, 6 people turned to look at the door. They were all seated close together, squished on a large couch that looked like it had seen better days. The room was filled with warmth and light and books. Those faces, so familiar and so new.

“This is my uncle, Lemony Snicket,” Bea announced with a little triumph in her voice. She led him closer to the couch, to a chair for him to sit in, but he didn't. They all broke into smiles wider than any river he had forded. Lemony couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded. He didn’t think he had ever seen so much joy in one place. Even in the good days of VFD, there was always an ulterior motive, a phrase which here means a reason to be a dick. 

These Baudelaires and Quagmires, they were happy. 

“Hello,” Violet, who looked so much like her mother, said, “we’re so glad to see you again.” She didn’t get up because a young man (Duncan? Quigley? Quigley.) had his legs thrown over her lap. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she playfully swatted him away.

Klaus, now mid-twenties with a mess of dark hair and glasses askew, held out his arms and Bea ran to them, collapsing onto his lap. Duncan ruffled her hair and she stuck out her tongue as if to say 'I was looking so grown up.' Sunny laughed a little at Bea snuggling up with them. A timer went off in the kitchen on something that looked like a slow cooker but was covered in buttons and gears. Sunny flipped a switch on the wall and the lid sprung open, released a delicious smell.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called, a little too loud considering that everyone who needed to hear was sitting on the same couch. She pointed a finger at Lemony and said, “You’re staying for dinner.” It wasn’t a question and there was no room for argument in her tone. Isadora laughed, seemingly familiar with Sunny’s insistence on eating. The room got louder as they all tried to disentangle themselves and set down their various mugs and books.

Lemony couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home cooked meal.

He was a sensitive man, prone to tears, but the ones he cried then were different. It was finally over. He found them, they were safe and happy. He stood stock still in their living room as they dispersed to get dinner. His eyes caught on a penciled portrait of Kit and Jaques hanging on the wall, her head on his shoulder. Bea noticed and gently took his hand.

“It's safe here. Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end, my friends! Thank you for reading, I hope you all think this is a suitable ending for our kids. Comment if you have feelings, I'd love to hear them. Much love <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that. Let me know your feelings in the comments <3


End file.
